11. Colette
11
Colette
O h shit, not again! I think, as my lips latch onto Antonio’s. What in the world was I thinking of bringing him here?
His kiss is like wildfire, scorching, but inviting, filling me with warmth and tearing my very weak walls down, reducing them to rubble.
It's a betrayal, a delicious sin against the promise I made to myself–to stay away from Antonio Amato. But the way his hand dips into the small of my back, the heat of his touch and the way his gaze devours mine, melts it all away.
When we break apart, I'm breathless, my head spinning. A traitorous part of me hopes he'll kiss me again, right here, right now, with the roar of the waterfall drowning out any lingering thought.
He hesitates, though, his jaw clenched, a battle raging behind his eyes. "We shouldn't," he rasps, breathless, the sound rough against the cascading water.
My voice fails me for a moment. What should I say? That the dam holding back my desires has well and burst? That this stolen moment by the waterfall - just like last night - feels like the only solace I've had in months?
"Come home with me," I blurt out instead, betrayed by my deep desire for the sweetness of his touch.
Antonio's eyes widen in surprise, then narrow with suspicion. He sees the struggle written all over my face, the battle between my want and knowing better.
For an endless moment, I think he’s going to battle past the urges I know are raging inside him, too. Instead, he sighs, a deep rumble that vibrates through me.
"Alright," he says, his voice laced with a hint of defeat. "Let's go."
I’m so stunned by how quickly he agrees. I blink at him like an absolute idiot. “Umm, sure.”
We make our way back up the narrow, hidden track that leads to the road. The silence is comfortable, a silence that speaks volumes like a shared secret between us. We steal glances at each other, both of us grappling with our decision. I almost burst out laughing at what we are doing. If we had left it at our one-night stand, we could have called it a mistake. We are well past that now, though, a fact that has dawned on him almost as clearly as it has dawned on me.
The game trail through the forest opens, and as I climb over a rock, I lose my footing and stagger forward. I exclaim in surprise, but Antonio is there, his arm gripping me around the waist almost immediately. I’m both shocked and impressed at how quickly he reacted. His touch sends sparks through my body as blood rushes to my head.
“Thank you,” I say. It sounds so silly; I wish I had said nothing at all.
He lets me go and scratches his neck. “Sure. You should be more careful. You could have had a nasty fall.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and smile instead. I can’t think of anything to say to him, so we continue on in silence, breaking through the foliage and making our way onto the road. He walks quietly beside me towards the house, his hands in his pocket. Of all days to choose not to drive.
"So," he starts, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. "Remember how much we hated each other in high school?"
I snort, grateful for a break in the awkward silence. " Hated is a strong word, but let's just say we weren't best friends."
He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Yeah, right? Col, you hated my guts. Admit it.”
I grin. “Well, you weren’t the easiest person to talk to. Always quiet, withdrawn. With that serious look in your eyes. I guess you always made me uncomfortable. And , though we were the same age, you always treated me like a kid. I hated that.”
“It wasn’t like that,” he said. He looks like he wanted to say more, his face frowning, and then he falls silent. After a few moments, he adds, “I guess I was just… well, me.”
"Mr. Rockstar," I tease, unable to resist a playful jab.
He grunts and laughs, a warm, genuine sound that washes over me. It's the one of the few times I've heard him laugh, and the sweetness of it makes me wish he did so more.
"Yeah, something like that," he admits, his smile fading. "Though being a rockstar isn't all it's cracked up to be."
We lapse into silence again, but this time it's easier, more comfortable. We make our way through town, talking about pleasant things. Nothing too serious, though. Nothing dark. It feels like we have been walking for only a few minutes, but I glance at my watch, and it’s been just shy of half an hour.
A deep feeling of apprehension shoots through me as I work my keys through the keyhole. Do I want to do this again, or do I send him home now? The lock clicks, and the moment passes. I want this , I realize, and the thought scares me. I enter the foyer, and he follows me into the house, his gaze sweeping over the familiar space.
I’ve not done much in the way of renovations, and the house still looks the same as it has for years, mismatched furniture and paintings I've done myself. When we enter the sitting room, Antonio stares at a large canvas above the fireplace, a swirling vortex of emotions painted in shades of blue and gray.
"Wow," he whispers, his awe clear in his voice. "This is…breathtaking."
My cheeks flush with a mixture of pride and nervousness. "Thanks," I mumble, avoiding his gaze.
"Did you make all of them?" he asks, gesturing towards the other paintings scattered around the room.
"Most of them," I admit. "It's kind of like…therapy for me."
He turns back to me, smiling. "I can see why. You're pretty good."
The compliment hangs in the air, a soothing balm. “Would you like some tea?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Er, sure. That would be nice.”
I lead him into the kitchen, and he settles by the kitchen counter, drumming his fingers on the tabletop as I brew a pot. In no time, we're sipping lemon tea with honey and nibbling on homemade cookies.
“Seems like ages since I’ve been in here,” he says, washing down a mouthful of cookies with his tea.
“Tell me about it. When I came here some weeks ago, I felt like a complete stranger.”
He nods and takes another sip from his mug, cradling it. My skin tingles with an awareness of him.
“So, art,” he says. “I know you said you’re a graphic designer, but I never thought you painted .”
For a fleeting moment, I consider telling him about the secret life I lead after dark. About the way I sneak out under the cloak of night, armed with spray paint, transforming the town's forgotten corners into vibrant pieces of art.
But the thought of his potential disapproval, the fear of him seeing me as a vandal, a rule breaker, holds me back.
“I know, right?” I say, deflecting his question. “I don’t know… I just haven’t been feeling very inspired.”
“Tell me about it,” he mumbles, his voice louder than a whisper, his eyes adopting a faraway look.
Our conversation tapers off, the silence stretching out. I reach for the last cookie at the same time he does, our fingers brushing. Electricity sparks between us, and before I can even think about it, I move forward, closing the distance between us. Our lips meet again, this time with an urgency that belies our earlier civility and forced nonchalance.
The tension that has been simmering reaches its boiling point. This kiss differs from the one by the waterfall, fueled by a strong feeling I can’t place. It’s raw, desperate, and filled with a yearning for something neither of us can quite explain.
Antonio's hands move with practiced ease, pulling me closer by the elbow with one hand, the other cupping my face, tilting it to deepen the kiss. My own hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. We stumble back, knocking over the teacups, sending hot liquid splashing onto the floor. It registers as the world around me fades away, leaving only the fire burning between us.
He pushes me against the counter, his kisses leave a trail down my neck, igniting every patch of skin his lips brush against. My breath comes out in hot, ragged gasps as his hands reach under my sweater. I arch into his touch, a needy moan escaping my lips.
"Upstairs," he says, with heat and desire in his voice.
We're a tangle of limbs as we navigate the stairs, his laughter echoing in the hallway as I trip over my own feet. The bedroom door slams shut behind us, and as quick as a whirlwind, we discard our clothes, shedding our inhibitions as well.
He pushes me onto the bed, kissing me as his hands spread my legs apart. I grow tense with anticipation as his cock brushes against my thigh, and I swallow with difficulty. Before he pushes into me, he looks at me with a mix of hunger and possessiveness that makes my heart pound into a frantic rhythm. He grins and then rubs the tip of his cock in my wetness. I shiver with desire, and his grin widens as he watches me. I feel every inch of him as he pushes into me, his breath hot in my ear as he grunts in satisfaction.
There’s nothing pretty about what comes next. Antonio slams into me, lacking all the grace of our last encounter. While trending his thrusts leaves me breathless, I love every moment. I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him even deeper into me. Antonio interprets this as compliance and increases the urgency of his thrusts. I tilt my head back as the pleasure mounts, my neck exposed. The loud smacking noise echoes in the lit room.
He’s muttering beside my ear the whole time, but I can’t seem to make any sense of his words as he alternates between speaking and nibbling on my exposed neck. I blink, trying to force away the drowsiness that threatens to drag me into a deep sleep.
The sex is explosive, a collision of pent-up longing and unrelenting passion. We move with desperate urgency, driven by a need that transcends words. Antonio's touches are both tender and fierce, exploring every inch of my body with a subtle reverence that contrasts the animalistic look in his eyes.
He whispers sweet nothings in my ear, his voice a husky undertone, a testament to the effect our connection has on him. My breath comes out in short, ragged pants, ending in soft moans escaping my parted lips.
Just as I reach my peak, he holds me tighter and goes faster . His movement loses its rhythm, and a throaty cry rips out of him as he fidgets, his orgasm arriving a second after mine with impeccable timing. He wraps his massive frame around me, spasming as he releases the last of his seed inside me. My fingers dig into his back, my toes curling and twitching.
When he rolls off me, I can hear him breathing beside me, the sound of a comfortable melody in my ears as I drift off into sleep, worn out.
* * *
I turn to Antonio, smiling, sunlight drifting through the window.
Only, it’s not Antonio. It’s Ricardo.
Oh, God! How did he get into my house? I changed the locks, right? I’m sure I did.
We are back in our apartment in the city, the arena of my worst memories.
“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asks. “I know you did.”
I try to scramble out of bed, my heart beating. “No, no. NO! This is not real!”
He grins at me, his teeth too white to be natural. “Oh, but it is. And I’m just getting started.”
He grabs my flailing ankle with a deathly icy hand and drags me back into the center of the massive bed. I kick at him, frantic and afraid, and that annoys him.
He tugs me more forcefully, sending a jolt of pain through my joints. And then he slaps me with the back of his hand. “That’s what you get for being such a bitch. Now, shut the fuck up. You’re mine, Col. MINE.”
Tears flow down my eyes, and my cheek stings. Another scar. I want to fight him off, but I’m so, so tired. The pain would go away if I just… Let. Him. Win. Losing the will to fight, I squeeze my eyes shut as his cold, rough hands shove my legs apart.
He lets out a bitter laugh, and just before he sticks his cock inside me…
* * *
“Col? Col! Can you hear me?”
Rough hands tug on my shoulders, and I refuse to open my eyes. Just take me already, you bastard! Do I have to watch you do it?
“Wake up, Col. Can you hear me? Wake. UP! ”
That voice…
With an effort, I crack my eyes open. It’s not my ex’s face hovering over mine. It’s Antonio. I take a moment to realize I’ve just had another nightmare.
And Antonio was here to witness the whole thing , I think, squeezing my eyes shut in embarrassment.
“Col? Are you alright?”
"Antonio," I whisper, the name sounding mumbled as I choke back a sob.
He cups my face, his eyes searching mine with concern. "Colette, what's wrong?"
Tears well up in my eyes. It's a battle to stay present, to fight the demons threatening to pull me under. "Nightmare," I manage, my voice a whisper.
He pulls me close, his embrace a warm anchor in the storm brewing inside me. "It's okay," he murmurs, his voice soothing. "I'm here."
His words are a lifeline, pulling me back from the brink. I bury my face in his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a calming response to the frantic hammering of my own.
A sob escapes my lips as the images of the nightmare recede, replaced by the comforting scent of Antonio's cologne and the warmth of his body pressed against mine. My chest tightens, and I blush a deep red, ashamed, as tears fall from my eyes. Here I am, a grown woman, crumbling into the arms of a man I know, seeking solace from nightmares I can't even explain.
“I’m here, Col,” he says. “You can talk to me. What happened to you?”
"It's… it was an awful marriage," I confess, my voice raspy. The words feel like a betrayal, a crack in the constructed facade I've built around myself.
His body tenses, but he says nothing, holding me tighter. I take a deep breath; the words tumbling out in a rush. "It gave me these panic attacks, this constant anxiety. I left him a few months ago, but the nightmares… They haven't stopped."
The silence stretches for a moment, heavy with unspoken understanding.When he speaks, his voice is lowan unfamiliar touch and gentle. "You don't have to talk about this if you don't want to."
"I know," I whisper. "But I…I don't want to be alone in this."
He lifts my chin, his thumb wiping away a stray tear. "You're not alone, Colette. Not anymore."
His words are a balm to my soul. In his arms, I find a strange sense of peace, feel safety I haven't felt in years. He leans in, his lips brushing mine in a question.
"Can I help you? Maybe, with a distraction?" he murmurs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
The vulnerability in his eyes mirrors my own, and a shaky laugh escapes my lips. "I think that might be just what I need right now."
He pulls me in closer, holding me. His lips find mine. Although the contact terrifies me at first, the nightmare is still fresh in my mind. His whispered encouragements between kisses helps me relax a little.
Without breaking the kiss, Antonio guides his cock inside me. The sensation of him so deep inside leaves me breathless, but it’s a welcome feeling. He turns on his back, flipping me around so I sit astride him, his cock still buried inside. Letting go of my nightmare, I allow myself to focus on Antonio, rocking back and forth on him in slow, circular motions.
The nightmare bleeds out of my mind; the world disappears from view in that instant, and all I can see is him, everything else shrouded in deep, impregnable shadows.
We explore each other's bodies with tenderness, the intensity of our earlier encounter replaced by a slow, deliberate dance of rediscovery. Antonio's touches are as light as a feather, sending goosebumps through my entire body, melting away the lingering remnants of fear.
Each caress feels like a silent apology, a promise of a different touch than the one I endured in my marriage. He traces the lines of worry etched on my forehead with his thumb, his touch a silent vow to chase away the shadows that haunt me.
As the night deepens, the surrounding air grows more passionate, fueled by a desire that goes beyond just the physical. This is more than just a hookup, more than a fleeting moment of escape. This feels like a connection, a fragile thing blooming in the wreckage of our individual pasts.
When I climax, it arrives in a gentle crescendo, a wave of pleasure that threatens to overwhelm me, leaving us breathless and tangled in each other's arms. We lie there for a long time, hearts pounding in sync. The silence feels peaceful, more peaceful than anything I’ve ever experienced.
After I’ve regained my breath, I break the silence. "Thank you," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.
"For what?" he murmurs, tracing patterns on my back with his fingers.
"For everything," I say.
He doesn't respond for a moment, then leans in and kisses my forehead. "Sleep, Col," he whispers. " We'll talk in the morning. I’m here, remember? I won't let anything happen to you. Not on my watch, Col."
I snuggle closer to him, the warmth of his body a reassuring presence. Exhaustion wins over, pulling me into a deep, dreamless sleep for the first time in weeks.